Rogue Angel 52: Death Mask

by Alex Archer

  “Okay, but it doesn’t explain why the ledger was recorded in Latin,” Annja said.

  “Unless there was someone in the Church who was helping them.”

  “Would they have done that?”

  “There were enough people, good people, who didn’t approve of what was happening, even though they were part of the Church. Remember, Torquemada’s uncle was unhappy about the way the Moors were being treated. He was not alone.”

  Sometimes it was easy to forget just how long the old man had been around. He delivered that last statement with absolute certainty. She knew he’d been alive during the Inquisition, but he’d brushed over it. Suddenly, she was struck by all the things he must have seen—and all the things he must have done in order to stay alive. She’d never considered the possibility that he might have known some of the people caught up in it.

  If there was someone in the Church helping the Mudéjars smuggle belongings away, making sure that their wealth was preserved for the next generation, that would have demanded absolute trust, absolute faith.

  “Who could they have trusted that completely? Given everything that was happening all around them. Who could they have believed in?”

  “I don’t know,” Roux admitted. “All I know is that I’m not having that son of a bitch Braden undo their sacrifice. He’s not getting his hands on a penny of their treasure. Come here. I need you to help me stop him.”

  “I’ve got a car,” Annja said, turning the keys in her hand as she made her way back to the door. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  She hung up, still not quite believing that Garin could sink so low.

  Yes, he had caused enough problems in the past that now she didn’t trust him, not completely, and that went all the way back to their first meeting, when Garin and Roux had been at each other’s throats, Garin trying to kill him before he could find the last piece of Joan of Arc’s shattered sword and put it together again. That had been about staying alive. That had been Garin’s fear that once the blade was re-formed, it would undo whatever curse it was that had kept them breathing for six hundred years. Self-preservation was a powerful instinct.

  This was different.

  This felt like a step too far, even for Garin Braden.

  25

  Roux didn’t have much time.

  Garin was already on his way back—and he wasn’t alone—and there was a good chance that he only had minutes to spare.

  He needed to be ready for them.

  Roux checked his gun. One shot wasn’t going to get him far.

  He was already regretting not taking one of the fallen brother’s weapons. Of course, it was unlikely anyone had been into the chapel to clean up, so realistically there was a wealth of firepower just lying around waiting for him to pick it up. The problem was he didn’t know how many men might still be in there.

  Roux could handle himself—that wasn’t what he was worried about. The chapel was the heart of the Brotherhood’s operations. If Garin came back to the Alhambra, he’d be headed to the chapel for sure. Roux would be in there, waiting for him. It was crazy enough that the Brotherhood had been able to take over a part of the Alhambra and remain undetected under the cover of building work. It was unthinkable that they could have occupied two sites. If Garin wanted somewhere private to examine the Mask of Torquemada and decipher the map it contained, then the chapel was the perfect place for him and his accomplice to work in peace.

  What Garin wouldn’t suspect was that Roux had breached the Brotherhood’s security and that he knew he wasn’t an innocent victim in all of this.

  Garin wouldn’t be expecting Roux.

  The sound of boots running on cobbles made him glance back over his shoulder. The Brotherhood was still looking for him. They had no idea where he was, though. They seemed to be conducting a grid search of the streets, running from one block to the next, keeping to the pattern. All he had to do was get behind their lines and they’d never find him. The Alhambra was full of shadows and empty buildings to hide inside, though many would be locked once the staff had finished their cleanup.

  He slid back into the alley, pressing himself close to the brickwork as he saw one man running past the outside of the building.

  The brothers were panicking. They wanted to track him down and deal with him before their paymaster returned.

  They’d never think of looking for him in their chapel. So that was where he needed to be. It was as simple as that.

  Staying tight to the sides of buildings, moving only in shadow, Roux made his way back toward the chapel. The lights were still blazing in there while almost every other building was shrouded in darkness.

  Security lights illuminated the cobbles, spearing through the gaps between buildings. Even so, there was more shadow than light on the narrow streets.

  Footsteps rang out, echoing against stone, making it hard to know which direction they were coming from.

  Roux had to be careful.

  He crept along, running when he needed to, hiding in the recesses when it sounded as if the search cordon was drawing in.

  The final few yards would put him out in the open. There was nothing he could do but step out of the shadows. He paused before making the dash, drawing his gun. One shot was better than none. He rushed across the stones, sprinting lightly on his toes and barely making a sound. Almost too late, he saw the door to the chapel open. Roux changed his direction and reached the side of the chapel before the guard saw him. He hit the wall hard and hugged it, not moving, calming himself before he did anything else.

  He edged forward and peered around the corner.

  The door had been closed behind the man who was more intent on enjoying his cigarette than keeping an eye out for Roux. The brother was lax, assuming Roux was long gone. He should have been on high alert, but instead he was lighting up a cigarette. Roux was going to use that to his advantage. There were times for brute force, and there were times for stealth.

  He was four strides from the door. Five at most.

  The man leaned back, one shoulder against the wall. He had his back to Roux. His Steyr submachine pistol was slung over his shoulder. Even if he heard Roux approaching, he wouldn’t have enough time to turn, slip the shoulder strap from its resting place, bring the Steyr to bear and shoot. That certainty was all Roux needed. That was his edge. He wouldn’t even need to waste his one shot.

  He reversed his grip, feeling the weight of the butt in his palm.

  Accuracy was more important than force. He needed to do this as silently as possible.

  He watched as the man took another draw on the cigarette. Then he flicked it away, sending the glowing tip end over end. Now. The man had no idea Roux was there until the butt of the pistol was swinging toward his head. A fraction of a second sooner and he might have missed, might have cracked the butt off the guard’s temple or cheek instead of behind the ear. He crumpled. Roux caught him with one arm as he fell, the handgun still in his grip. He reached around with his free hand, took hold of the brother’s head and gave it a single sharp twist.

  Roux supported the dead man’s weight, knowing that if he let him slip to the ground it would make moving the body much more difficult.

  He glanced around quickly, checking both directions to be sure that no one was watching, and backed up against the door, pushing it inward.

  His entire plan rested on a single gamble: that every other brother was out there hunting him and that the dead man in his arms had been the only one left to monitor the chapel itself.

  Roux dragged the body inside, the heels scraping against the mosaic floor as he pulled the corpse into an alcove at the bottom of the stairs, hiding it from view. That would do for now, but the man was hardly well-hidden. At least he wouldn’t be the first thing someone saw when they walked through the door.

  The other bo
dies were still lying where they had fallen.

  Roux didn’t move them.

  He didn’t have the time.

  He heard the sound of an engine in the night.

  Right now, speed was everything.

  26

  The Alfa Romeo growled to life.

  Annja roared out of the parking lot next to the hotel.

  She’d placed her cell phone on the passenger seat, ready to snatch it up if Roux called again. She floored the gas, knowing she had no hope of catching Garin before he reached the Alhambra. It was all about making up lost ground. She was so angry with him she could have spat bullets. She couldn’t believe what he’d put her through, how he’d lied to her face. And she knew how angry Roux was, too. She didn’t know what would happen if the two of them came face-to-face without her in the middle. She wouldn’t put anything past either of them right now. As angry as she was, she was the reasonable one of the trio—which wasn’t a reassuring thought, given that she could put Garin’s lights out right now.

  She gripped the wheel too tightly. The muscles in her shoulders knotted. She concentrated fiercely on the road ahead, not wanting to think. She turned the music up loud. The streets became less regular, and soon she couldn’t see beyond the long reach of the car’s headlights. The road twisted and turned. She was taking the bends too quickly, and she knew it. Tires squealed as she yanked down on the wheel, hard.

  Something ran out in front of her.

  A dog? A fox?

  She couldn’t tell. It was small and fast.

  She slammed on the brakes, sending her phone spinning off the seat and into the foot well, out of reach. She pulled up just in time for the critter to disappear into the undergrowth on the other side of the road.

  Her heart was racing.

  Annja took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax, slow down. There were no other cars on the road. She turned the radio down and pushed the stick shift into First again, setting off a little more cautiously.

  Better to arrive a few minutes later than not at all.

  The Alhambra was in near-darkness as she approached. Annja knew that her headlights would stand out like a beacon as she crested the horizon. While the Brotherhood might not be able to recognize the car from its headlights alone, anyone looking would know they had a visitor.

  Hoping to retain some element of surprise, she killed the lights and slowed her speed, taking her foot off the gas as she descended silently toward the site. She was all too aware of how little she could see. A single mistimed turn could prove fatal if taken too quickly. As the shadowy outline of the palace fortress loomed larger through the windshield, she picked out a handful of lights in the darkness.

  Annja pulled the car over to the side of the road. She fished her phone out of the foot well and climbed out, leaving the keys in the ignition in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

  She was never truly unarmed, even if the only weapon she appeared to have was her Maglite. The sword was only a heartbeat away, so close she could almost feel it in her hand now, just because she was thinking about it.

  She didn’t dare use the flashlight as she made the slow trek toward the ancient buildings.

  Even before she reached the gate to the ancient palace-fortress, she spotted a few lights dotted along the wall with CCTV cameras alongside them.

  She was used to being watched. Someone had been monitoring her every single step of the way. But right now she was sure she was being scrutinized, the cameras tracking her every move. It couldn’t be helped. Even if she backed off and tried to find a blind spot to scale the wall, it wouldn’t help; it would only slow her down. Garin had to assume she’d follow him, even if she wasn’t supposed to know he was a deceitful sack of garbage. If he was watching, he’d expect her to walk right through the front gate. That was her style. He’d expect a full-on, frontal assault on the Brotherhood’s base of operations, so that was what she decided to give him.

  She put on a show for the cameras, pulling the sword out of the otherwhere and making sure the lens picked it up.

  Annja approached the gateway. She didn’t duck into the shadows, didn’t break her stride. She stared straight into one of the cameras. She wanted their attention. The sword blazed in her hand, lighting her face as she stepped into the Alhambra.

  Garin and his accomplice knew she was coming. The sight of the sword on their security screens would, she hoped, distract them from the mask. If they couldn’t crack the riddle it presented, that would buy Roux time to close in, and maybe, just maybe, they’d get the mask back before Garin could cause more trouble.

  Roux had told her to make for the chapel. There was no guarantee that they would still be there, but Roux was expecting her to head that way. He’d be basing his movements on her being there. She wasn’t about to hang him out to dry. But first she had to find it, and all she had to go on was Roux’s mention of scaffolding.

  She moved deeper into the dark warren of crumbling buildings, the blade lighting the way.

  There were few lights in the streets, and only the occasional security camera. Roux had said the chapel was well monitored. The more cameras watching her, she felt sure, the closer she was to her goal.

  She didn’t bother trying to hide. Let them come.

  She heard the sound of running feet.

  It was impossible to tell where they were coming from. The acoustics of the cramped ancient streets were utterly disorienting.

  It wasn’t Roux. The footsteps were too heavy—boots on cobbles, not the old man’s style. Despite his appearance, he was still lithe and athletic. She had seen him run, part gymnast and part ballet dancer, barely touching the ground.

  Running from building to building, shadow to shadow, she scoured the area for any signs of life.

  The whole place appeared to be deserted, and yet she knew Roux was here.

  So was the running man.

  She would also stake everything she had on Garin and the mystery man being here, too. Five of them. There could be more. Garin wouldn’t run this operation without a small army at his disposal. She remembered the first time he’d exploded into her life. He’d turned a quiet French town into a war zone in a handful of seconds. That was how he did battle, and it seemed that was how he’d set this up so far—as a battle. He’d sacrificed four men out in the deserted parking lot. Roux had almost certainly neutralized the same number when he’d gone into the dead zone. She had counted a dozen in the parking lot, give or take, including the men who had driven away.

  No matter how many brothers there were, Annja realized, Garin wasn’t likely to keep them around much longer, given the way he’d sacrificed the rest of his team. Garin wasn’t the kind of man who left himself vulnerable to outsiders. He didn’t like leaving behind anyone who knew his secrets. That would explain why he’d returned here: to tidy up loose ends before he went after the treasure.

  It made sense.

  In fact, given everything she knew about Garin Braden, it made perfect sense.

  Annja put the sword away.

  She had no intention of doing his dirty work for him.

  27

  Roux passed through the curtain behind the altar and stepped away from the remnants of medieval culture and into the brave new technological world.

  An array of screens showed the video feed from the security cameras outside the building along with images from all around the complex. The images shifted every few seconds into another angle on the rotation. From where he stood, it looked as though these screens captured every inch of the Alhambra, so the Brotherhood was obviously tapping into the feeds of other cameras along with their own. One image caught his eye. It showed the road leading to the main gate. In the distance, he could just make out two pinpricks of light approaching. Headlights. It had to be Garin. It was too soon to be Annja, but she couldn’t be too fa
r behind. He just hoped he’d get some alone time with Garin. They had stuff to talk about.

  He scanned the room.

  A door at the far end looked as if it would lead outside. That meant the place had two exits. Good. He liked options. A heavy brass key was set in the lock. He went across and twisted it—better to be prepared.

  The old man had spent the past few decades avoiding many of the technological advances, preferring to outsource his needs, but he wasn’t completely ignorant. You couldn’t exist in this world of Twitter and Facebook without knowing something about how it was all connected, but unlike Garin, Roux wasn’t anywhere near the cutting edge. The equipment in this room was state-of-the-art. There was stuff in here that wouldn’t have been out of place at NASA’s Ground Control in Houston. Actually, there were machines and instruments here that NASA wouldn’t even be getting for a couple of years, knowing the stranglehold Garin Braden had on certain lines of trade. Billionaire playboy, two-faced, backstabbing mercenary, uneasy friend—Garin was all of these and more. Their lives had been spent intertwined, with so much time devoted to trying to kill each other. It was almost like old times.

  The old man smiled.

  He recognized a couple of the labels on the bits of tech as one of Garin’s shell companies. He had his fingers in so many pies it was difficult to keep track, but those little stickers reinforced everything his hacker had claimed. The evidence was stacking up. Roux had been willing to give Garin the benefit of the doubt for a while, assuming he was some sort of unwitting accomplice in this mess, that he’d gotten himself in over his head and was desperately trying to get out again. But this wasn’t a case of in-too-deep. Garin was involved in this up to his neck. At best, the most innocent version of events was that someone had come to him with this plan, hoping he’d finance it. At worst, it was his own plan. Roux tried to think. Assuming Garin hadn’t come up with the whole thing himself, whoever was the brains behind it knew he’d be unable to resist those shiny, unique objects like the thieving little magpie he was at heart. That meant they knew him. And Garin was careful. He didn’t leave a trail. So knowing him was tough.